


A Date with the Devil

by TheEndeavorNetwork



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Dysfunctional Relationships, M/M, Rated for discussion of violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-01
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-13 09:54:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29774394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheEndeavorNetwork/pseuds/TheEndeavorNetwork
Summary: It's not like Sherlock has anything better to do than have dinner with his nemesis.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/Jim Moriarty
Kudos: 25





	A Date with the Devil

Sherlock was lounging on his couch when he got a text from an unknown number.

_Come here. Alone. - JM_

It was followed by an address. A quick search told Sherlock that it was a restaurant. A fancy French one, at that. He rolled his eyes and dropped his head back on the cushion. He fully intended to stay put, but he came to rethink it as the minutes dragged on. There were no interesting cases, and John was with Mary. It would be so much easier to pass the time if he was high.

He might as well occupy himself with bad decisions. He sighed as he lurched upright.

~

The restaurant had a sheek art deco aesthetic. It was the kind of place where you had to make a reservation months in advance. As Sherlock approached the host, he realized he wasn’t sure who to ask for.

“Do you have a reservation, sir?”

“I believe my party is already seated. By the name of Moriarty?”

“Yes. If you’ll follow me, please.”

The host weaved between tables toward the back of the room, where the shielded booths were. He politely waved to a booth where Jim Moriarty was seated in a dark navy suit. He smiled upon seeing Sherlock, which made the latter rethink his decision on a whim.

He was about to turn around when Moriarty abruptly announced, “Promise I’ll behave,” and held up his hands.

Sherlock contemplated for a few more moments. The corner of Moriarty’s mouth curled a little, but he grabbed his napkin and placed it in his lap. Sherlock made up his mind finally and sat down.

“I hope you’re paying,” Sherlock said.

“Of course, it’s my treat. Sooo, how’ve you been?”

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Since John stopped updating his blog, I don’t know what you’re up to anymore,” he pouted.

“We both know that’s not true. You have me watched, and you visit my flat at your leisure when I’m not home. You’ve done everything short of bug my room.”

“Oh, Sherlock,” Moriarty purred, “I’m not _that_ obsessed.”

The waiter arrived with their menus. Moriarty barely glanced at his before rattling off his order. Sherlock’s eyes roamed the page lazily. All of the food was probably good, and he didn’t care much, so he picked a few things randomly and handed the menu back.

“You didn’t order dessert,” Moriarty commented, “That’s alright; we can share mine. Do you like custard?”

“You ordered a lot.”

“I have a big appetite.” Moriarty tilted his head back, eyeing Sherlock predatorily. “I’ve got bragging rights now, then.”

“For what?”

“Being the first to take you to dinner. We had a little bet going.”

Sherlock’s interest was piqued. “You’re in contact with Irene Adler?”

“Mm,” Moriarty hummed nonchalantly, bobbing his head side to side, “Not really. I reached out for a friendly chat. We talked a lot about you. Neither of us much likes the idea of sharing. I told her I’d win. You and I have that ‘special something,’ like you said.”

“Are you conducting business with her?”

“Why? Feeling left out?”

“I find it odd.”

“We share a common interest. And I like a bit of competition. Makes it more interesting.”

“Unlike you, she doesn’t want me dead.”

Moriarty laughed. “Don’t be dull now, darling.” His look suddenly became steely. He picked up his water glass. “You know how I hate when you pretend.”

When he set down the glass, his expression was neutral again.

“I’ve been having this idea lately. It’s quite good, but bad at the same time; you know those ones. Anyway, what if you came to my place for a boys’ night in? I know, bear with me. We could watch my favorite movie. Do you know what it is?”

“Of course not.”

“ _Willy Wonka_. I never get tired of it. We’d curl up in my bed afterwards. That’s the part where my imagination gets a bit...shaky. I don’t know what I’d do then.”

Sherlock thought he was going to leave it at that, but he kept going. He spoke slowly, giving weight to each word.

“You’re like a porcelain doll. I don’t know if I can play without breaking you. If I touch your skin, I’ll want to bruise it. If I run my hands down your chest, I’ll want to open it to see your heart.”

His eyes were intense and hungry. “I want your blood in my mouth,” he whispered hotly.

Sherlock was glad for the public setting and the table between them.

“That doesn’t sound very appealing,” he said flatly.

Moriarty chuckled. “Do you ever think about the fact that the two people who’ve stirred your virgin heart are both dominant types? You might learn something about yourself.”

“I’m sure I can manage without an education from the likes of you.”

Moriarty adjusted himself in his seat. He was about to say something else, but a pair of waiters arrived with their appetizers and a bottle of wine. The brief intermission gave Sherlock a chance to think over the situation. When the game first began, he believed the flirting was just a part of it. He came to understand that the sexual aspect was very much real for Moriarty. What he hadn’t anticipated, however, was for the criminal to have (relatively) benign fantasies about dinner and a movie.

Sherlock himself had wondered what his relationship with Moriarty might be like under different circumstances. They could pour over unsolved mysteries or make deductions from banal, yet addictive soap operas. Maybe the feelings Sherlock had towards him could go somewhere.

In a more perfect world, where Jim Moriarty wasn’t a notorious villain. But, Sherlock had to wonder if that even mattered to him as much as it should.

The waiters were gone, and Moriarty was stabbing at his mushrooms.

“What are you thinking about?” he drawled.

“My humanity,” Sherlock replied evenly.

A toothy grin spread across Moriarty’s face. “Oh, dear. Why’s that? Because you’re dining with the devil?”

“Because I’m comfortable with it.”

“Go on.”

“Even after everything you’ve done...I admire you. You’re a monster in the truest sense of the word,” he hesitated before continuing, “If you weren’t a threat to me and the people I care about, I can’t say for certain that I wouldn’t be your friend.”

Moriarty put down his fork and reached his hand across the table, palm up. Sherlock looked at it, but didn’t take it.

“You mean to say, if I stopped trying to destroy you, you’d come to me?”

Sherlock met his gaze. “I might consider it.”

A smile played on Moriarty’s lips.

“So tempting,” he whispered, then raised his voice, “That’s the most compelling argument you’ve made for why I shouldn’t crush you. Suppose I say I’ll stop, then stab you in the back?”

“I would be prepared for it.”

“Sherlock Holmes, always so confident. Can’t let your guard down. If Daddy says he’ll take care of you, he will.”

“You’ve tricked me before. I’d be remiss if I fell for it again.”

Moriarty pulled his hand back. “Fair enough. To be honest, I don’t know if I _could_ stop. You know how impulsive I am. I just have to look at you, and I’m torn seven different ways. It’s better like this. Dancing around each other. Flirting. Fighting. Making the others think we hate each other - except your brother, damn him.”

“You should quit now before something happens to you.”

“Worried about me, are you?”

“A mind is a terrible thing to waste.”

Moriarty snorted. “If they kill me, it’ll be ‘cause I let them. If you outlive me, though - which is _highly_ unlikely - I give you free use of my corpse. And if _you_ die first…”

He licked his bottom lip. Sherlock couldn’t help but snort, as well.

“You talk a big game for someone who couldn’t even get me to kill myself.”

“This time, it’ll stick.”

Sherlock raised his glass. “To your timely death.”

Jim grinned and toasted him. “To yours, my love.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading. Comments are appreciated.


End file.
